I was suddenly inspired to do a piece on the relationship between a writer and the muse. And experimenting with an unfamiliar style of poetry. ^^

( Give me your name Let me embrace you )

Well… nothing much to say about this poem. The title and its content speaks for itself.

( The door of the glasshouse opens, Child wears high heels three size large. )

Until now I’m not sure why I wrote this. It reflected my mood on evolution of human habits and the gradual destruction of nature.

( Hands with thin sticks Scratch scratch scratching )

That phrase ‘the devil in me’ kept haunting me for some reason and then, when I wrote it down, the rest of the poem came out as well. I like it fine and it has a nice tune to me, but I have a feeling there’s something off about some of the wordings and phrase. Anyway, on to the poem itself.

( The devil in me, she’s a bitch, )

This is not meant to make fun of anything. Me and my sisters were fooling around in the car when this little devil suddenly intruded into my brain and went on to corrupt my mind until it’s a full-blown poem. It is not my fault. XD

( Father I have sinned, )

This one was done while I was suddenly struck by the inspiration-lightning on my way to school and it was a little hard trying to nail a few phrase down but I think it worked out okay. Except the some bits still sound a little strange. Enjoy. ^^

( Twelve o’clock the witching hour Me and my friends we dance at a fire. )

Another poem. I’m gonna post all of those I have written here in one go. Was going to do that when I posted Night, but I forgot. This one is a change from that dreary atmosphere of my first two poems.

( Pines tickled my fingers As my palm descends. )

Woohoo, another poem. Actually I’m still unsure if this qualifies as a poem or not because it was original a short story and the way I wrote it gave it the repetitive feel of a poem and I changed it. Oh well.

By the way, some of the sentences are a little long so they go to the next line.

( A little girl sat by the side. Alone. Solitary. Silent. Watching. )

My first real attempt at poetry, while consciously knowing that it is poetry. According to a writing friend, it’s a sonnet.

( Will you not shed the skin of light, When death whispers the time at night. )